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Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough

Time can haunt your head
Reminding you of death
Take control of you
If you allow it to


Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough
Too Much
Not Enough

Timmmmmmmmmmme

(c) Debra Lea Ryan
04/01/2024
4th piece of an concept  album project idea. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6AnXLnMMAg
KHY Oct 2023
A little daft in the head
She said, she said,
So many things
I tried to
Squeeze it
All
In my head
Oh,
How
I
Did
Jme Love May 2021
My head spins
My heart aches

Once again
Again and again

My stomach burns
My blood boils
I never learn

Once again
Again and again

Alone i sit

Once again
Again and again

Searching
Only to find
This pain you left behind

Once again
Again and again
Speaks for itself realy. What i allow to continue will.
Styles Jun 2023
you are a wild,
        that needs to be tamed.
        I am a hunter
        that enjoys your  taste
        so to conquer this desire
        I must devour you
        starting below the waist
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
do it in your head
conscious do it in your head
**** the dogs of war
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
where does love begin
in your own head only source
in the universe
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2022
tired of the voices in my head

blunt spoke, they never shut up, believing their longevity
provides a grandfathered status, denying them dispatch

they do not acknowledge my notice of eviction but the
rumbling is quieter this morning, the mournful bittersweet
residue of their whining, wrecking, nearly  murderous noises

their recital of my major crimes, weak selfishness that was the mirrored reflection of my weakness and jealousy, the hallmarks
of the failure to be brave at the moments that mattered, indeed, my own murders Eye-confessed-committed but yet unpublished, remain

flawlessly bawled out loud, with repeat threats to remand me to
a higher judgment if I escape responsibility in this world, which
is laughable as they have played accuser, prosecutor, jury
and judge, so oft that the processional process, my living justice, trembling, slow destruction is preliminary a full color, living hell

but this sabbath morning of a blue sky after forty days/nights
of a cold rain that relentless fell, sparing none, gives me a pretense, a veneer of an almost-bravery to dial till a click clean heard of a
thunderous silencio, “no más” no more and a sudden abrupt of
is this not preferable,
this silenced soliloquy of modest relief

and weep guilty~grateful for a reprieve, a small pardon that
undeserved for the heinous things I have permitted, nay, allowed, will never earn parole, early release, and the finality of no more delay, is a inevitably undeniable, and a poem
of excuses not successes, and an acknowledgment that
I’ll never seat at the head of a table
revered by my progeny

welcoming the arbitrary invitation delineation of a new year,
a fresh start


Sat Dec17 2022
New York City
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
To no fault of my own, the little I own
To the words that ask me to conform.
I feel so alone—in the deep chasms of a petrified soul.

An open door, shut by a closed mind to make a move.
Unwillingness of that to do.

Oh what a world to live in.
Searching, always seeking; in the depths be,
Of a tempestuous sea. I still can’t swim.

So comes that sinking feeling again. I’m sinking in
Deepest thought to the very END. My always sinking
HEAD. Especially when pride gave you a big head.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Thin wire, overzealous leading to being over tired...
an over reliance on the hopes of being reinspired,
The burning thoughts; of a migraine constantly on fire.

Ten thousand shots in my head—ba, ba, ba, ba,
swimming over my depths, trying my best to breathe;
all the while in still waters choking my neck. Some live
too long...living a life of the dead.

I'm singing a song, better sounding inside—la, la, la, la,
It goes while I'm looking in the mirror, seeing myself and my
self enemy. Who's betting on their works, to seem like a better
version of themself/me?

Letting be of the many ways I try to appear calm in some days.
Hunger in my eyes; starved of the sights of true love.
But the dirtiest intentions, has my face fully covered in mud.
I give and give, but these returns are never enough.
But plenty are the voices in my head, battling constantly—blah, blah, blah, blah, as no-one else hears this cracking glass in my chest.

I figure we're all fragile figures, in the end.
Mark Wanless May 2022
sept.22,18

residue of thought
my life resounds
in my head
a circular
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